


I'm Gonna Make Him An Offer He Can't Refuse

by zayndehaan



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Detective Noir, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 10:10:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2728445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zayndehaan/pseuds/zayndehaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Detective noir AU -- as in, Noirk. Bonus points for really hardboiled inner monologue, especially for York.</p><p>For the RVB '14 Jamboree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Gonna Make Him An Offer He Can't Refuse

It had started out like any other day. Just another workday at his run of the mill job—except, of course, that nothing about his job was run of the mill.

York was sitting in his office, ignoring a pile of paperwork that the police department had marked urgent, and drinking from a cup of coffee that had more alcohol content than espresso. The blinds cast an uneven light over his desk, which he liked, if he was going to be honest with himself; it made the place feel more genuine.

When he’d signed up for the force he’d always had detective work in mind—loved the grittiness of it, the aesthetics of working inside a real live murder mystery every day. It had taken a few years of being a cop until he’d finally taken enough forensics courses to apply for a promotion to detective, which he’d gotten right away. He liked to think it was because of his roguish personality and charming, debonair looks. It was probably actually because a lot of people didn’t trust a half-blind cop to fight crime out in the city.

Regardless, this job was way cooler than being an officer. Example A: he was currently drinking a coffee cocktail at 11 in the morning and preparing to start his workday late on a Tuesday just because he felt like it. His Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum was beside his mug of coffee, a beautiful little thing York called Delta. He was undisturbed, peaceful and lazy. He might start working on the big mafia case around noon, or maybe at one. A nap seemed to be in order, given that he’d been up all night drinking at the local bar with his old cop friends. Settling back in his chair, York let his eyes drift close.

A moment later, he was jarred awake by a knock at the door. The detective eyed the translucent panel in his door uncertainly. He could make out two shadowy figures through the frosted yellow glass, but no particular features on either of them. “Come in,” York said, adjusting his pose and taking another sip of his coffee.

The two people entered. They were of equal height and build, but had very different attire. The man was wearing a three piece pinstripe dark purple suit, which York thought made him look like a villain out of a comic, albeit a very attractive villain. The broad was in a light purple dress, neatly fitted to her figure, and high heels that could probably kill a man if she were to bash him over the head with them, which she looked like she could. Both had short blonde hair and grey eyes, and York was equally attracted to both of them. No matter what the outcome of this case, York had already labelled them as ‘the Twins’, and their names on all paperwork would be written as such.

“What can I do for a beautiful doll and handsome hero such as yourselves?” York said. He put down his coffee mug, and even took his stompers off the desk, giving them both his best smirk. York could multi-task.

“We’re not here to flirt,” the woman said, face going dark. Yup, she could definitely kill someone. She might even kill him. “We’re here because we heard you were one of the best gumshoes around, and we need a good detective.”

“You heard correctly,” York replied. He might have misjudged them by their outfits— anyone with money had at least earned an appointment in York’s books. “What’s your story, then?”

“My girl’s gone missing,” said the woman, and York instantly crossed her off his desired kill list. “Her name’s Connie, she goes by CT or Connecticut sometimes…” After that, the female twin began to tell York a long sob story, about how her girlfriend had gotten in trouble with the mafia, and when she’d come to the police the deal they had offered her was to join the force and come work to fight the mob instead. That was already suspicious, but this woman, or South as she called herself, then went on to tell York how Connie had only been working a month with the police when she’d started to notice some shady goings-on in the force. She’d told South (and the other twin, North) about what she thought was happening, and then not a week later, she was wiped straight off the map. When South had gone in to check at the local police station, they’d said they never had any record of a Connecticut working for them at all. “And that’s why we need your help,” South finished, sounding a bit desperate.

York looked from twin to twin, eyeing up both North and South with disbelief. “For me to follow up on this would mean I’d have to accuse the Chief of Police, Dr. Leonard Church, of being a nefarious character. Which would mean an inquiry into the entire police department. And if you were wrong, or if we don’t find enough evidence, then my job could be on the line. I’m sorry, doll, but I think this is above my pay grade.”

South seemed ready to punch his face in, or perhaps grab his revolver and fire a few rounds into his ceiling. However, her brother reached out and placed a hand (a _giant_ hand, the unhelpful part of York’s brain that was always thinking about sex added) on her arm to comfort her. York watched her shoulders settle a little, and she exhaled. “South, let me talk to him,” North murmured.

South got to her feet, and placed a cigarette between her lips before she’d even left the room, grumbling to herself about fuckin’ detectives and how they were just as bad as coppers. She was perhaps the least lady-like broad York had ever encountered. He wanted to _be_ her.

When South had left, North got to his feet, and started to walk around the desk. York looked up at him and said, keeping his tone apologetic but firm, “Look, I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t think I can help you, really. And no amount of persuasion’s gonna change that.”

North nodded. “I understand, York.” Though his tone was soft and calming and reassuring, his fingers were undoing the buttons on his purple suit, letting the jacket slide off one shoulder and then the next. And he was toned—built like a horse. York flexed his hands on top of his lap without realizing it. Then North’s hands moved to his vest, and as his shirt soon followed, York felt his train of thought derail and crash. As North stripped, he spoke in that same level voice, moving in closer to York. “I’m not trying to _persuade_ you into anything, Detective. Just trying to make you see that perhaps there might be some merits in taking my poor sister’s case.”

“You have… my full attention,” York said, slightly short of breath. North kissed him before either of them could say another word.


End file.
